Why is Not a Question
by arashi no tenshi
Summary: You don't always need to have answers. Sometimes, just being is enough. Hakkai/Sanzo


"**Why" is Not a Question**

Disclaimer: Does not own Saiyuki.

* * *

Round and round he twirled, a mass of flailing limbs, bobbing head and undulating hips on the checkered dance floor. Lights simultaneously winked, shimmered and glared from above, sending beams of neon colours streaking everywhere across the room in rapid succession as the pawns continued their morbid yet repulsively entrancing movement across squares. Hakkai chortled, a private little noise against the background of screeching singers, throbbing music and sporadic moans- this was the ultimate state of depravity and debauchery; with people paying to enter mortal hell with its lethal concoction of vices, alcohol, drugs, sex and disregard for any form of order.

Following the ghostly glow of the (no longer) luminous exit signs, Hakkai nudged, shoved, badgered and even menaced the showgirls with their heavily painted faces and shiny barely- there dresses, executives with slicked- back hair and Armani suits, punks with gothic get- up, and countless others who to get to the exit. _They were all alike; people with hidden secrets that only surfaced here._ Even before he had pushed the glass door open, a hand was already rummaging about instinctively in his pockets. The new smoking ban is to be damned, for causing him to go to such trouble just to get his hourly nicotine fix. The tiny Zippo flame hardly stood out against the backdrop of massive neon signs, yet at that moment, it seemed to be the most beautiful thing in his life. Each drag never failed to choke him, acrid gas intruding rudely, and that he rather enjoyed due to his sadistic nature. Exhaling, plumes of silvery smoke streamed into darkness and Hakkai rested his head against the flaking wall and sighed- never mind what he would lose if his alternative lifestyle was discovered, _this_ was where he truly felt alive.

* * *

Brushing fallen ashes off his expensive leather pants, he glanced upwards and giggled mortifyingly- even God could bear to witness such decadence, not to mention offer salvation for pathetic mortal souls, for the pitch- black sky bore no glimmer of natural illumination, choosing to roll out towards infinity instead in as a dark oily puddle. Bopping his head along with the monstrous thudding of the gloomy hole, he savoured the third stab of nicotine just as someone else stomped out, the bang of metal and glass hardly registering amid the cacophony of artificial and man- made sound.

"I'm never ever going to go back in there again," the newcomer hissed, dropping on the pavement in what could only be described as disgust.

And a full- bodied laugh escaped, causing the stranger to jerk his head up abruptly.

He was pretty even if you did not dig the androgynous types. But what grabbed one's attention immediately was not the alabaster- isque quality of his skin nor the splash of sunlight in his hair- it was that pair of amethyst stones which simultaneously expressed surprise, outrage and anger. It all seemed too funny to his foggy brain that a "girl pretending to be a boy pretending to be girl" was glaring at him with such ferocity as though he had just been scorned such that Hakkai simply doubled over with laugher, much to the chagrin of his companion.

"Do you want to die?" he snarled, groping in his pocket for his trusted Smith and Wesson. In his fury, he looked even more comical- a marble statue with a morbidly twisted face (and any cartoonist would insert a "To bite, or not to bite" bubble above).

Despite his diminishing brain cells from alcohol and nicotine intoxication, Hakkai managed to sense the dangerous aura radiating off this fallen statue (of course, anyone with a single brain cell left would realize danger when you are looking straight into a shiny ring- Ooh so clean and shiny, he thought happily, but that's not the point). Raising his hands in a placating gesture (or so he hoped), Hakkai inched backwards.

"Hakkai. People call me Hakkai," Hakkai offered as a distraction, despite being acutely aware of how socially- stupid he sounds. "Why are you here anyway?"

For a while, he looked like he was going to pull the trigger but he merely lit up a stick of cigarette, "I'm Sanzo and I am a substitute for the damn cockroach who broke his back." Sanzo snorted and seeing an eyebrow raising, continued, "and I'm not gay."

Hakkai tells him, he isn't that bad considering he doesn't screech as much as the others and that he is not gay too, though he doesn't have anything against them. He would have made some comment on Sanzo being awfully helpful so as to help a random acquaintance but the presence of the gun told him to shut up (or maybe it's the stony stare that said, "Shut up if you hope to get a piece of me.")

Sanzo blinks and takes a deep drag and they stand wordlessly in the dark, letting the incessant thumping behind them fill the absence of words. And as distorted musical notes swished everywhere, they wished they never had to move again.

(But they eventually did because life _never_ goes the way you want.)

* * *

Glassy- eyed, they lean back against the grimy wall with legs stretched out, too inebriated to move and oblivious to the damp pavement when Hakkai whispers against the curve of Sanzo's ear, "You look so pretty."

"Shut up." Sanzo hisses but let the arm around his waist pull him closer.

"Hmmm," Hakkai replies noncommittally, (not that he had to reply of course, but women tend to get quite irritated when he doesn't, and of course he's not calling Sanzo a woman- of course not), fixated on the sight and smell of the weight against him (just like a typical guy with a dick). "You still haven't told me why you are here, in such a mess that I had to borrow clothes for you."

"Did I not?" Sanzo wonders, gazing perplexedly at the black tapestry above, seeming to have found something worth being happy for despite all he had been through that he could not bear to talk about.

"Not yet. But it's okay." Hakkai deliberates. "Maybe next time." He rakes his fingers over his tousled hair, feeling the grooves amidst gelled hair that Sanzo created earlier and smiled. "It's okay," he repeats.

Somewhere behind amongst the neon signboards and beckoning usheres, where the club continues blaring its discordant tune, it feels like a gaping hole in the cosmic universe, one that pulses wildly in tune to the throbbing of a monstrous jugular as it feeds on sinners and their fragile souls. And they run as the pawns within dance ominously to the mind- numbing rhythm, falling deeper into in…

The clouds disperse and the stars start to appear in the form silver motes; too minute to make a difference but ultimately present. Sodium- vapour street lights cast mellow halos around them as their fingers interlace and they take off to find a place where they can call their own (because Sanzo is beautiful and innocent and Hakkai is drunk and deliriously optimistic and misfits can only count on each other and they just happen to be _there_).

Yet despite the distance they have thrown behind, music still echoes around _everywhere_, a smothered thumping in the underground that still manages to cause tremors under their feet; and the hushed voice inside Hakkai and Sanzo sings along too to the twisted chorus.


End file.
